


Faded in my Last Song

by savethelastslice



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Phantom of the Opera AU, Trainee Days, and couldn't get it out of my head since then, basically i watched phantom of the opera in lockdown, dear dream makes me cry every time, of sorts, with a happy(?) ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 04:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30083157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savethelastslice/pseuds/savethelastslice
Summary: Mark says it starts by accident. Chance. Pure, rotten, dumb luck.Donghyuck calls it fate.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	Faded in my Last Song

**Author's Note:**

> when the "I wrote this instead of sleeping" tag popped up it really slapped me in the face how dare you
> 
> but yes it's been a while since i've posted and school has been insane, then came a day where i just had to write something out, anything. this is that. rough and unedited but i had to do it, but i'll be back tomorrow morning to edit or regret whatever i've written on so many hours of sleep...
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: there are some scenes suggesting violence
> 
> alt. title: dream, dear

“No, no. Stop it. Stop, seriously, I said _stop_ -”

Mark shuts his mouth. The music cuts off. Donghyuck sighs as he pushes himself up with scrawny arms, slides his butt off the amp and hits the ground soundlessly. 

“I swear I got it right when I practiced last night,” Mark mumbles. His heart has long since sunken before catching sight of Donghyuck’s face, nose scrunched in annoyance. 

It’s a strange sight to anyone who might happen by, Mark knows. Him standing there with hands clasped, head slightly bowed in front of a boy a year his junior. Shorter than him, too. But he felt frozen in place. Habit, probably. His vocal teacher would have thrown the music scores to the floor by now, tongue clicking in endless frustration when the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth right.

Eventually, Mark musters the strength to lift his head. Donghyuck’s arms aren’t folded like he’s expected; they hang loosely by his side as he scribbles furiously on the copy of the score Mark had given him half an hour before.

“It’s the ‘r’s, always those pesky ‘r’s,” Donghyuck mutters. He glances up and his face falls slightly. “Markie-hyung, I told you already you don’t have to do that with me.”

With a deep inhale in, he holds it for a moment before letting out a controlled exhale, imagines the tension from his body flowing out with that breath out. Mark sighs softly. “I know.” 

“Is that so.” Donghyuck doesn’t sound particularly convincing. There’s a strong undercurrent of concern under the scorn that tips that little boat-load of it right over.

“Yeah,” Mark says, a little louder now, and by now his back has straightened, fingers untangled from one another, tension in his shoulders faded like morning fog because right, he’s in front of Donghyuck now, not his vocal teacher. “I know.”

A lie. It’s a habit, too, because he doesn’t. Not deep within each fibre of muscle, because it’s been weeks and the reflex - drilled into him multiple times a session almost every day of the week - has taken a strong grip on him and always, always seems to win. 

Nonetheless Donghyuck hums, conceding to him, as he turns the paper for Mark to look at. “I’ve marked out that part just now, where you messed up -” Mark cringes, Donghyuck carries on like it’s no big deal when his vocal teacher would’ve thrown a _fit_ \- “and the other ‘r’s that carry on to sounds where your tongue’s got to be loose, ‘kay? You really have to practice your Korean ‘r’, the English one’s way too stiff.”

“It really sounds like an ‘L’,” Mark whines.

“Yeah, too bad.” Donghyuck shrugs. “Here is Korea, man. You gotta get used to it if you even wanna stay on the beat. Let’s run through the first verse another few times before we move on.”

Two months ago Mark would have balked at being bossed around by this almost-midget (Mark wasn’t too tall himself - ye -, but Donghyuck was tiny) but in those two months of rehearsing together in this practice room Donghyuck’s proven his methods time and time again, and ‘too bad’s are infinitely better than ‘if you think Canada’s better then go home, you can’t last a month anyway’s, so Mark nods. Clears his throat. 

“Let’s get it.”

\--

It starts by accident. Or by happenstance, by coincidence, or whatever you want to call it.

If his mom hadn’t happened to be at that one university gathering across campus where she lived she wouldn’t have met his dad, and if she hadn’t met his dad then he wouldn’t have been born. And if Mark hadn’t been born he couldn’t have been at that one street in Vancouver and met the one guy who had passed him that one flyer and -

Well. You get the picture.

If Mark hadn’t gotten the flyer, gone to the audition, flown all the way to Korean by himself, then he wouldn’t be here right now.

He’s two weeks into his traineeship. Two gruelling, arduous weeks that have left him aching all over, tired to the bone and to whatever’s in the core of his brain that his middle school science tells him isn’t a bone. Tired, tired, tired.

He’s tired of that ache. He’s tired of never having the time to call his parents, that they aren’t a room away, and tired of having to pretend all’s well when he does so that they won’t worry. He’s tired of not being allowed to do anything when just half a month ago he had the entirety of his hometown to roam with his friends, who’d probably yell at him for leaving if they could see how alone he is now. 

Most of all, he’s tired of being tired.

In hindsight they had probably seen it coming, how Mark is right there, right at the end of his tether that would snap any moment. Which is why no one follows him when he bursts out of the dance studio barely holding back tears. Why no one follows him when, vision half-blinded, Mark runs down the first hallway he sees hallway and throws open the door furthest from where he came from.

He doesn’t bother checking to see if the room is empty. He doesn’t even bother locking the door. Mark throws himself down straightaway on the nearest horizontal surface (which happens to be some musty, carpeted floor) and cries, all snot and heaving chest and choking, gut-wrenching sobs, letting the flood of self-pity and anger wash over him till it’s finished.

Mark doesn’t know how long he’s been there, curling in on himself in a tight ball. It must have been a long time because his cries must have first subsided, then the weird pressure in his ears must have gone for him to have heard when a voice had rung out, shrilly melodious and extremely annoyed.

“Dear god, you’re so ugly when you cry.”

So yeah. Mark says it starts by accident. Chance. Pure, rotten, dumb luck.

Donghyuck calls it fate.

\---

Mark’s week looks like this: Korean lessons are every weekday morning from seven to lunch. Vocal classes fall on Monday afternoons and every other day. Dance classes are on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday nights. It’s topped up with an exercise regime on Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday. When he’s not at class he’s practicing. Sunday mornings and afternoons, his only time off, are spent mostly asleep, or practicing.

Practice, always practice. Practice, practice, practice.

Practice makes perfect, his vocal teacher tells him.

Human beings aren’t perfect, Mark would reply. Well, he did one time.

Idols aren’t human, would come the answer like the crack of a whip. Idols don’t need to be human. Idols need to be idols, and idols are perfect.

So Mark practices. What starts as something new, interesting, and fresh quickly becomes a chore. At night when his vocal cords are sore and swollen, his arms aching up a storm he’d lie in bed and wonder to himself why he was there in the first place. 

It had had to do with singing, right? Lying in bed, the mere thought of singing brings the jeering voice of his vocal teacher. His voice is too plain. The notes aren’t right. There’s as much feeling as fingers blackened by frostbite. Cold, always cold. It always ends up there because that’s all his teacher knows about Canada, dangles it in front of him like the cruellest candy and tells him in that sickly sweet voice that if he even had thoughts of going back, he should just give up. He wasn’t tough enough. Worthless. Useless.

Less, less, less. Mark feels his insides scraped hollow each day.

So Mark stops thinking. Instead, he throws himself into the void deep, dreamless sleep as fast as he possibly can. It feels like free-fall.

In the days that follow, his progress, already slow and meandering, stops dead in its tracks. His vocal cords won’t open. His body refuses to flow. His spirit almost rejects the practice like a foreign organ transplanted into the wrong body. Like he’s got to get out, or he’s going to die.

\---

If he’s being honest with himself, Mark would admit that he had hated Donghyuck, back when they had first met.

There weren’t many kid trainees back then. Mark had been one of the youngest, still is. He was also the only one who couldn’t speak fluent Korean, which meant that it would take a while before he could start going to school. When everyone else was at lessons, Mark would be in the language room of the office staring at Korean words and willing them to become more than random lines. 

When they’d come back, lively chatter flowing through the hallway, Mark would blink and all the vocabulary he had picked up that day would scatter to the floor. He’d bend down to retrieve them up, let himself be passed by. If they had noticed him noticing their curious looks, they didn’t let on.

Mostly, Mark keeps to himself. He made a promise that when his language skills catch up he’ll start making friends then, but even if he can’t speak fluently his comprehension skills improve day by day, and when he’s passed by on the corridor once more he starts to wonder if he wants to understand more than he already does.

So when Mark looks through tears and registers the pre-pubescent voice, thin arms, and small figure that squats down in front of him, panic starts to rise.

The words hit him and Mark scowls because what the hell. It’s one thing to be mean to someone who has done you wrong, but he doesn’t know one thing about him and this is the first thing he says. For a moment, anger overtakes fear. 

“Go away.” Mark would like to think he cut an intimidating figure, eyes ablaze. Looking back, the snotty nose and red-rimmed eyes probably threw any chance of that away and indeed, the boy doesn’t spontaneously combust or run away crying. Mark thinks he wouldn’t have minded either option.

Unperturbed, the boy just tilts his head, fixing him with a considering look. “It’s the last Friday of the month today, isn’t it? What happened to you, you get a bad evaluation?”

For a moment, Mark’s stunned into silence. He nods.

“What’d they say?”

The boy’s looking at him like he won’t take silence for an answer, and Mark is sick of holding things in, so he tells him sullenly. “Pronunciation.”

That, on top of many things. One mountain of problem after problem to fix in the hopeless case that is Mark Lee. The way his grammar is always arranged wrong. The way his arms don’t seem to move the way they should.

The boy blinks. “So what? You’ve just gotta get better. That’s only one thing, it’s not that hard.” 

_Screw you,_ Mark remembers thinking as he lifts his head, the same time a quiet voice at the back of his head goes, _you know, he’s right_ , and Mark writes him off on all his books there and then.

Donghyuck’s too busy examining his nails to notice Mark’s internal damnation. A derisive snort escapes from his mouth and that’s it, that’s the nail in the coffin right there and Mark is going to quit this stinking company, he’s going to -

Donghyuck turns a blinding smile at Mark, resting his weight on one arm as he brings the other up to fistbump Mark on the shoulder. It’s so gentle he doesn’t even feel it. He does feel the cold of someone who's been stuck, like he always is, in an air-conditined practice room for hours on end. “Assholes, aren’t they? Even I can tell you’re a foreigner, and you’ve only said one word.”

Mark blinks because _huh?_ and when Donghyuck says, “What song are you working on? I’ll help you with it,” the horns on his head turn into a shining gold halo so fast Mark’s positively giddy.

\---

After meeting Donghyuck, Mark’s week looks like this: Korean lessons are every weekday morning from seven to lunch. Vocal classes fall on Monday afternoons and every other day. Dance classes are on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday nights. It’s topped up with an exercise regime on Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday. When he’s not at class he’s practicing. Sunday mornings and afternoons, his only time off, are spent mostly asleep, or practicing.

Practice, always practice. Practice, practice, practice. It’s all the same. Nothing is the same. Both those statements are true at the same time.

Now, when Mark escapes the clutches of Mr Kim, chest constricted and heart pushed so far up his throat he thinks he might throw up at any time, he hurries down the stairs to the furthest practice room. When he pushes open the door, Donghyuck is already there.

“The one thing you need to know about Mr Kim,” Donghyuck makes sure to tell him at least twice a week, “is that he hates spontaneity. You got that? Taken it down on your books? Written it in blood on your walls? Tattooed it on your brain?”

“Mmhmm,” Mark hums. “I got it.”

“He hates spontaneity. Hates hates hates it. Has a stick up his ass about how it’s too painful if we fail so we can’t do it till we’re rich and famous. Then he turns around and gives you bullshit about not having ‘character’, but it’s all stinking smoke. Ignore it.”

“One day,” Mark intones wistfully. Donghyuck pauses mid-ramble, eyes turning a shade darker, but Mark’s not sure if he sees it right. 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck finally replies. “One day.”

Today marks the second month since Mark has moved to Korea. Almost six weeks since he’s met Donghyuck. In that time he’s lost and found his love of music. His body has been the stiffest and most fluid it’s ever been. In a place that crushes his bones and robs him of his spirit, Donghyuck came in like a puff of fresh air and allowed Mark to breathe again.

A puff of fresh air with an attitude. But also one that had the most beautiful voice Mark has ever heard.

“Hey.” Mark reaches a languid toe and prods Donghyuck’s ankle to get his attention. He’s two hours away from Mr Kim, and he feels like his blood pressure has finally returned back to normal, difficulties he’s facing with his new piece be damned. “Hey, sing that part for me again.”

Donghyuck makes a face. “No.”

“C’mon, please?” Mark’s giving his puppy eye face. The one he knows Donghyuck can’t resist. “Please, Donghyuck?”

“Don’t touch me,” Donghyuck snaps, dancing skittishly out of Mark’s reach. But he clears his throat primly, side-eyes Mark to make sure he’s paying attention as he grabs the piece of sheet music. “Fine. One more time, then it’s your turn, okay?”

“Okay,” Mark says easily.

\---

Day by day, Mark improves. The weeks turn to months and Mark finally starts going to school. He’s been bumped up to take classes at the office with some of the older trainees, and among them he finds some English speakers in the form of Johnny, Jaehyun, and Ten. They introduce him to the rest of the trainees, bring him out to nearby places to eat. They help him with his Korean and teach him about the stories and legends of the agency: stories of diva trainees and haunted toilets and dating scandals. Jaehyun and Ten tease Mark for his wide-eyed gasps. Johnny is a little more reverent.

Between practices with them, where no one laughs if Mark mispronounces a word terribly, and the time he spends with Donghyuck, Mr Kim and his words fade to white noise. Well, almost white noise - they’ve become a tick that lands on Mark’s shoulder that he’s learned to flick off the moment he steps out of the door. A giant-ass tick with wings that buzz like a thunderstorm but hey, if it falls it falls.

Today, it’s Johnny that calls out to him. “Hey Mark, come for extra practice with us after your Korean classes, how ‘bout that?”

It’s always a tempting option, but Mark knows his mind’s made up before the question is finished. “Can’t, sorry! Maybe another time?”

“Sure,” Ten, breezing by Johnny’s faux-pout to collect his water bottle. He jabs the elder in the rib teasingly and Johnny can’t hold his expression for _that_ long anyway, but Jaehyung’s eyes still roam from one to the other before walking off, a small smirk on his lips. “Where do you practice, anyway? I never see you around.”

The older trainees take up the practice rooms of the upper floors near the lifts. By now, Mark’s been here long enough to know most of the trainee’s usual practice rooms - for example, Taeyong and Doyoung take the one right at the end of the corridor. Most of the girls alternate between the four on the left near the fire exit. Don’t ever touch the one nearest the female toilets, that’s Joohyun noona’s room. Sometimes Seulgi noona too but it depends on the day. Down by the basement though, he’s not quite sure who’s there. Checking’s never been his highest priority, not when Donghyuck’s around, and gosh he should really be getting going, shouldn’t he.

Mark shoots an apologetic glance back, waving as he pulls the doors to the dance studios open. “The basement ones - hey, I’ll catch you guys later okay?”

As the door swings shut, he hears Jaehyung’s confused voice going, “basement?”, before he’s taking the stairs two and a time, already pulling his language studies notebooks out of his bag.

Before he knows it, Mark’s footsteps sound out in a beeline from the stairs to the basement corridor. He raps sharply on the door. Before his knuckle can make contact for the third time it swings open and Donghyuck stands there in usual white shirt and jeans, bright laughter drawing him in.

\---

It’s a Tuesday and Mark’s turning blue in the face.

“Did he really say that?”

“Yeah. I - there’s no reason not to - I don’t get it.”

A look of disgust crosses Donghyuck’s face. “I mean, this life wears you out but to drag someone down with you is just shitty behaviour.”

“And here I was thinking that they finally gave me an English song,” Mark pockets his phone with a sigh. 

“At least he gave you a heads up.” Donghyuck chews on his fingers in thought. “Look, there’s no way that Mr Kim’s not gonna be pissed to hell and back, but you’ve got no choice. Maybe if you learn the whole song…”

“Sing _and_ rap? I’m having trouble getting the - the feeling out by singing whether it’s by what you say or by what Mr Kim wants, I don’t need to add rapping to my pile of Mark-isn’t-good-enough...things.”

Donghyuck’s got one of his looks again. It’s the kind where he’s not saying anything, hands stroking his chin consideringly, eyes narrowed that specific fraction. And he’s looking directly at Mark.

Wherever this is going, Mark doesn’t think he’ll like it. “What.”

“You’re,” Donghyuck puts his thinking face on. “You’re a very whiny person.”

Mark blinks. Of all the things he could have expected, that wasn’t one of them. “Um.”

“You can’t tell stories to save your life, god knows I’ve fallen asleep and then woken up, gone through the phases of REM sleep and all that -”

“Thanks?”

“But,” Donghyuck grabs Mark by the shoulders. His eyes have a mad spark in them. Mark knows right down to his toes that it’s building to a wave that will inevitably carry his feet along, so he swallows. “But - don’t let this get to your head loser - but you’ve actually got a pretty good tone, holy shit, how have I never seen this before? For all you’ve been singing, and it’s smooth but not like, spectacular, but maybe...let’s give this a try.”

Mark called it half a second ago. Donghyuck starts the music, and Mark opens his mouth. A part of him wants to protest, it really does, he’s never tried this before - but the music comes on and by habit, Mark shuts up and tries. 

The words flow out like waves on the shore. He doesn’t trip over words like he’d thought he would, what with this being rap and all, and something - he doesn’t know what it is but it’s certainly the start of something - starts to blossom in his chest.

Mark glances over, and he knows Donghyuck feels the same way.

The music fades, the song ends.

“Holy shit,” Donghyuck says eloquently, and Mark’s inclined to agree. “Holy shit.”

\---

Mr Kim is not pleased when the other trainee, Wonseok, fails to turn up. He raises one disbelieving eyebrow when Mark offers to cover the song himself, but Donghyuck’s praises give Mark enough courage to tell Mr Kim he’ll try. Surprisingly, Mr Kim lets him.

It’s written all over his face that he doesn’t expect anything from the boy who can carry a tune, but who’s voice might not land him more than lead vocals to someone else’s main, but this song, as Donghyuck had said time and time again and that is not etched in Mark’s memory, this song is in English. He wins by pronunciation alone, even if it’s not the standard Mr Kim might be looking for.

Here’s the thing though - he’s good. He’s more than good for someone who’s doing it for the first time. If Mark were by himself he’d scarcely dare believe what he was hearing from his phone recording, but Donghyuck wouldn’t lie about these things. As a second pair of ears, he trusts Donghyuck entirely. The added confirmation from Johnny, Jaehyun, and Ten was all he needed to know that once more, and more than that, Mark thinks he’s a little closer to believing his own pair of ears, too.

When the verses come, Mark pictures the lifestyle SM had promised could be his. Plenty, never to worry again about the material. Power to help others worry less about it, too. His voice flows strong and smooth. At the fading of the last chords of “Billionaire”, Mr Kim’s face is carefully blank. He leaves to make a quick phone call.

By the end of the week, Mark’s been fast-tracked to the intermediate rap classes.

\---

Two months pass so quickly, Mark blinks and it’s like they were never even there. He isn’t sure if it’s all this about ‘finding his voice’, or it’s because he’s finally truly gotten used to the routine. When he puts on his suit, all he knows is that it’s a different Mark staring back at him.

Over the months, he’s grown taller. Muscle has filled his lean frame and his shoulders are broader than ever. He stands straighter, too. He’s learned to take criticism in stride and to trust his ears, know his worth.

Later at the annual SM party, he knows a good voice when he hears one.

One of the older female trainees takes the stage. Wendy noona. She’s the other trainee from Canada, he’s spoken to her a few times. Dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans, Wendy smiles as she brings up her guitar. It’s the first time Mark’s heard many of the other trainees that he doesn’t often train with perform, and with the opening notes of the song, Mark feels the whole room sit up just that one bit straighter.

That voice. Mark closes his eyes and leans into it. It sounds like she’s telling a story through more that music and voice, like the artist and song are one through that amazing, amazing instrument and something aches in Mark’s chest because it’s the first time he’s ever thought of someone sounding like that after Donghyuck.

Donghyuck. Come to think of it, they’ve never brought up the party during their regular practice sessions. Would he be here? Would he, like Mark, be stuffed into a spiffy suit, hair gelled to its roots?

Mark frowns. He places a hand to his chest, feels his heartbeat hammering against his chest. 

Well. It’s a fact that they choose trainees based on looks too. Mark’s not one for lying - he thinks Donghyuck would look pretty good in a suit.

A stray arm thrown round his neck pulls him rudely from that rabbit hole. “Hey Mark, what’s with the blush? This your first time hearing the female trainees perform, huh?”

“Ten hyung,” Mark protests weakly. He sniffs the air and recoils at the hint of alcohol. Johnny quickly appears at his elbow apologetically, Jaehyun rolling his eyes as he follows behind. “Ten hyung, please let me go, I’ve got to go find someone -” He’s got to find Donghyuck. He’s got to see this for himself -

“What? Naw, it took so long to find you Mark-ah, why are you so good at hiding in crowds -”

“I’d keep way from the alcohol if I were you,” with a hand on his back, Taeyong steers Mark and the group of them away from where the executives are busy mingling. “Best not to be seen by them for now.”

Mark doesn’t manage to get away from them for the rest of the night, because after Taeyong, Doyoung appears, followed by Taeil and Yuta and it would be rude to leave just like that. Despite Taeyong’s disapproving stare, Ten manages to sneak Mark a little bit of soju. After that the lights seem to move in new, wilder combinations, and Doyoung’s jokes get much funnier. Out of the corner of his eyes Mark thinks he sees a familiar figure hiding near the back of the room. The edges are blurred just a little bit at the sides but Mark can make out the shape of his jaw, the brown hair. White shirt and jeans. Then someone walks past his line of sight and when he looks back, it's like Donghyuck was never there.

\---

When Mark returns to the practice room on Monday, Donghyuck is quieter than usual. Even after Mark tosses his bag aside and starts on his new assignments, Donghyuck continues to pick at his fingers as he leans on the windowsill, staring out of the musty glass.

From the floor, Mark pauses where he’s got his notes sheets arrayed. “...Donghyuck? Are you listening to me?”

“Hmm? Yeah.”

He’s not. Mark tries again, gentler this time. “Hyuck? Is everything okay?”

Donghyuck turns and Mark sees the frown on his face more clearly. He scuffs his feet on the floor. “I didn’t know you knew Johnny hyung.”

“You know Johnny hyung?”

Mark gets a sour glance in return. To be fair, Donghyuck’s been here longer than he has, so it makes sense. Mark doesn’t know why he’s never made the connection before. “He’s been here for ages, of course I know him. We used to have classes together. Now we don’t.”

“Hey, come sit down and talk to me.” With a bit more coaxing, Donghyuck shuffles over. Mark grabs his hand and pulls him gently down. In the short silence Mark thinks back to last Friday when he thinks he’d seen Donghyuck standing by himself at the back, spiffy suit on and bowtie in place. The way his heart had started to beat just that bit faster, how he’d wanted to walk right over but his legs had been jelly and so, so heavy. “What’s up? Did I - did anything happen?”

“I’ve been thinking about some things.” Donghyuck’s frown is back and he looks so upset it’s all Mark can do to not throw his arms around him and draw him close. “Some things about how Johnny’s been here for years, and being here means you lose so many things from out in the real world that I don’t know, normal kids do. Most people. Like normal school and whatever they do. PC cafes.” He pauses. “Cafes.” 

I’d trade it all away again to meet people like you, Mark thinks. All that comes out is, “Normal people can’t belt out “Think of Me” with more than like, 90% accuracy, tops.”

Donghyuck inhales shakily. “Markie hyung, can I - can I try something?”

“Hmm?”

He turns those large doe-eyes on him. Mark feels his legs turn to jelly again. “Will you do something for me, Mark hyung?”

“Does it involve anything illegal?”

“No.”

Donghyuck’s up in Mark’s space and he’s having a really hard time concentrating. “What is it then?”

He leans back then and the sudden cold air where Donghyuck was hits Mark hard and he almost leans forwards. Donghyuck shakes his head, wrings his hands. “I - this is so stupid, but I’ve been thinking about this for years it’s pathetic. Johnny hyung’s been here so long and he doesn't know when he'll ever start getting out, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to leave here and I wanna try at least once.”

He’s got a small mark from biting his lip, Mark notices. He knows right then he’ll say yes no matter what it is. “Try what?”

“Kissing someone,” Donghyuck says, and Mark thinks he might faint. “I - I don't think I'll ever get to...Can I - can I try it with you?”

Mark’s eyes glance down, up. He swallows. “We - we’re not gonna have anyone else for a while,” it comes out as a whisper, soft and barely audible but it doesn’t need to be with how close Donghyuck suddenly is.

“Close your eyes.”

Mark’s eyes flutter shut and all his senses go into overdrive. “Okay.”

“Don’t open them, okay.” Donghyuck’s voice is shaky as Mark’s legs feel. Then it’s the puff of cold breath on Mark’s lower lip, the ghost of barest pressure on his - and Mark’s eyes fly open.

He can’t do this to Donghyuck. He can’t. Donghyuck doesn’t - doesn’t know and it’s not fair to him, holy shit -

Mark blinks back at a frozen Donghyuck leaning over empty space a metre from where he’d slid out from. “I. I’m sorry. I need to go.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know he screwed up.

\---

The next week, he goes to practice with the other guys. They don’t question it, take him along like he’s always had a place with them even if he was more quiet than usual.

On Friday, they’ve all just come back from a briefing by the vocal department on how they’re moving Friday assessments to Thursdays, and Ten plonks himself beside Mark on the floor. Johnny and Jaehyun stand by the side doing a terrible job pretending they’re not listening.

Ten clears his throat. Mark sees Jaehyun wince. “Hey, dude. You’ve been, uh. You’ve been pretty quiet lately, is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” Mark replies. It’s a lie and they all know it. Mark thinks there are shredded ribbons where his heart once was.

“I know what might cheer you up,” Ten says as he loops an arm around Mark. Jaehyun and Johnny give up pretending they weren’t in on this and walk over to join them. “I think you’ve been here long enough to finally know the - “ he looks around quickly and drops his voice. “The secrets of the SM building.”

“Not just secrets,” Johnny promises solemnly. “ _Secrets._ ”

Mark blinks back at them blankly. “It’s okay guys, I already know the guy’s toilets on the fifteenth floor is like, haunted or something. Yerim noona told me.”

Ten pauses a bit. “Oh yeah, that one’s made up, sorry. It was a prank Baekhyun sunbae played on some of the trainees a while back and it uh, it kind of caught on.”

Mark thinks regretfully of all the times he’d walked one story down or up to pee, and Jaehyun pats his shoulder in understanding. “It’s okay, we’ve all been there.”

“Nah, so anyway, it’s the older trainees that know this mainly but there is actually a haunted place in the building, just not those toilets. It’s at - “ Ten looks around quickly and drops his voice, Mark following the movement of his head doubtfully. “It’s in the basement.”

“The basement,” Mark echoes.

“Basement four,” Johnny confirms. He’s got sadness mixed with his expression that the other two don’t have. “It came from a dark tale. I’m not sure if the legend that came out of it was real, but the original story definitely was. I was there when it happened.”

“That’s why no one really goes there to practice anymore,” Jaehyun explains. “And management doesn’t want to spend all the money renovating so they kind of just left it.”

“It’s a story with the trifecta of executive cover ups, fall-guys, and tragedy,” Ten continues. “But the main reason why the legend came up is ‘cause allegedly, some of the tapes surrounding the incident went missing -”

Hold on, Mark’s brain processes what they’ve been rattling on about and it hits him like a sledgehammer. Basement four?

“It really was a huge shame,” Johnny is saying. Mark is hardly paying attention at this point, his breathing getting more ragged and his vision blurring, “Donghyuck was the most talented vocalist among the lot back then and - Mark? Mark!”

\---

It’s Monday, and Mark stands outside the practice room door. Has been standing outside for the past five minutes willing himself to step inside. He doesn’t know what he’ll find in that room anymore.

Mark traces the back of his left hand. A dull ache is still there if he presses hard enough from where they’d set the IV plug last week.

He needs to know. He needs to.

With a deep breath, Mark pushes the door open.

Donghyuck immediately leaps up the piano chair, blinking around guiltily. Before Mark can say anything he’s already walking forwards, words spilling out in a rush and fresh tears in his eyes. 

“Mark hyung I’m so sorry about last week, I shouldn’t have asked you to do something you’re not comfortable with and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Can we forget it all ever happened?” He stops just short of the threshold of the room, holds out an arm to draw Mark in. “Can we continue to practice together for our Friday assessments?”

Mark stares. And he stares and he stares and Donghyuck blinks back. “Mark hyung?”

“Assessments have been moved to Thursdays,” Mark whispers. Donghyuck’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. Mark takes one forward, fists balled by his side, the anger rising now as he enters the room and thinks back on all those months coming here, all the lies they turned out to be. “Assessments have been moved to Thursdays, or did you not hear?”

Donghyuck’s backed up against the wall, head shaking and hand gripping the windowsill so tight that his knuckles turn white. No - that’s not it. Mark squints harder, takes a closer look. Have the edges of Donghyuck’s fingers always been that translucent?

“You lied to me,” he says simply, and it’s all it takes for Donghyuck to crumble.

“I - I would have told you,” Donghyuck says through heaving sobs desperately held back. “I’m sorry Mark hyung, I’m so _sorry_.”

Mark shakes his head. No. “Johnny was right. You - god. You’re not real.”

No wonder the other trainees had never mentioned his name. No wonder Donghyuck didn't know of anyone other than Johnny. No wonder - and Mark stares incredulously at him up and down because how is he realising this only now - no wonder Donghyuck is in a white shirt and jeans all the damn time.

“I was real once,” Donghyuck whispers. Mark looks away. Beneath his gaze the carpet swims, warps. It’s too hard to look at Donghyuck and to hear his voice when he says, “we would have performed together. I would’ve been a year younger than you, I - I would still have called you Markie hyung. I would still have been your Hyuckie. I just. I just didn’t want Mr Kim to hurt someone else ever again, and then I actually got to know you and you were just so _nice_ and -”

Mark closes his eyes. Big mistake - in the darkness he sees the stage from two years back, the microphone knocked over, the dark stain on the large speaker and a body lying prone on the floor.

He opens his eyes as the rustling sounds fade. Donghyuck stands in front of him.

“I would have given you this.”

Donghyuck hands him a jewel case with a CD. Unthinkingly, Mark takes it.

Then: “Mr Kim?”

“Just go.” Donghyuck has walked back into the room, tremors in his voice betraying his fight even as he stands with back straight, poised as an idol should be. “Please, Mark hyung. Just go.”

So Mark does.

\---

Johnny finds Mark on the rooftop.

He’s taken to sitting by the rails, dangling his feet barely off the top. Tasting a bit of dangerous freedom while knowing he won’t fall. By his side, the yellow jewel case rests on the floor.

“You’re not being as fair to him as you think you are.”

Johnny carefully takes a seat next to him as he turns his gaze out to the cityscape. “You knew I was practicing in the basement.”

“I had a hunch,” Johnny admitted. “Jaehyun was so sure he’d heard you wrong that day. I had a hunch but I thought it could have been any of the other rooms, so I didn’t ask. Besides, I didn’t know Donghyuck would be okay with visitors.”

Mark glances up, squinting against the light of the sun. “You’ve met him? As a - as what he is now, I mean.”

Johnny hums. “Once. Right after the incident to clear some items for the stagehands. Me and some of the EXO seniors. He was in hysterics, going on and on about a stolen song. Threw things at us until we left. Threw things at everybody until we all just kind of left him alone.”

“I know it wasn’t his fault,” Mark admits, though his heart aches something terrible. “And he helped me only because he said he didn’t want Mr Kim to hurt anyone ever again.”

“Mr Kim was his vocal teacher too,” Johnny says darkly. “You’ve read in the news, haven’t you? That’s all bullshit, by the way. Mr Kim wasn’t happy when Donghyuck decided to sing an original song on his debut stage as a trainee and things...things escalated.”

Mark blinks. He feels like he’s been delivered the same slap that had sent Donghyuck flying. “Wait. Why’s he still teaching then?”

Johnny shrugs. “Short of police reports, we’ve made many complaints. He’s got excellent records. The proof’s not in our hands, none of us were there. I haven’t known what to do with myself for a long time, Mark, you have to understand that Donghyuck and I used to train together and he was such a bright, talented kid, but I haven’t been able to do anything.” Johnny gives a meaningful look to the CD lying by Mark’s side. “Until now. Maybe, just maybe.”

“Maybe,” Mark echoes, and in his head the gears start to turn. “Why though? Why come back?”

“Donghyuck?” Johnny asks. “I don’t know for sure, but you’ve heard him sing. Back then the trainees used to say that Donghyuck was someone born to be a singer whose music outlived him. I used to think that it was because he hadn’t created something like that yet.”

\---

Mark stands in the shadows on stage side fidgeting with this mic. At last, Johnny and two other SM Rookies walk off the stage. With a pat on the back, Johnny makes meaningful eye contact with Mark. He nods.

The SM auditorium is packed. Mark doesn’t have to look far to see neon lights spelling out this name. 

Name in shining lights. Huh.

“Hey guys,” Mark starts, and he’s greeted with a loud uproar of cheers. Adjusting his mic onto the stand, he takes his seat. “Thank you, thank you all so much. You’ve given us rookies so much love and we haven’t even debuted - it’s amazing.”

“We - all of us here - to us, music is more than something we do, it’s something we live. Breathe. It’s the distillation of our life story and the stories in stories inside and it’s _us_ , you know? It’s a piece of us we wanna give.” Mark’s spent ages preparing this speech. The audience falls silent. He needs them to hear every word of it, take it down with videos and memory. He needs them to hear the voice and find the song from three years ago, break it from the outside in.

On their part, this is something the higher ups can’t ignore.

“So, there’s a story behind this next song I’m gonna sing for you guys. It’s about a boy born to sing, born to be on stage and make music. And this music would hopefully, with time and with refining, touch the lives of many people. It’d be a gift and everyone would want to receive.

“At least, that’s the dream.” Mark’s spent ages in the studio with Taeyong, another trainee who’d just entered the company at that pivotal moment two years ago, mixing and remixing the song till it was just right. They’d kept the vocals, spliced some parts to add in verses Mark had penned. “That’s the dream whether we live it or not, which is why this song is not sung just by one person but two. And I hope you guys listen to the conversation these two people have, and I hope you like it.”

By the side of the stage, Mark doesn’t need to look to see Mr Kim flipping through pages and pages of proposals and not seeing this on paper. It’s not.

“Here’s a song we call ‘Dear Dream’.”

Mark’s voice, raw yet honed through the years, tells the words like honey and velvet, like metal and blood and sweat and music. Then the vocals come on, melding with the wistful, yearning melody, the crowd sways in unison to the rhythm and waves.

As the music flows Mark thinks back to just a month ago. It was just a month ago when he'd finally mustered the courage to walk down the basement steps and stand in front of the door. When it had finally swung open he'd been hit with an armful of boy.

He must have been so scared, was all Mark had thought about, arms coming to encircle him tightly. Mark was now a full head taller than Donghyuck. He must have been so scared.

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered. Donghyuck had shaken his head, buried himself deeper into Mark's embrace. "I'm sorry. We're gonna try and help you Hyuckie. You've worked so hard but maybe you'll be able to rest soon. Would you like that, huh?"

Donghyuck had nodded again. Mark had felt his tears like droplets of ice running down his neck.

"Now that time has passed, I realize we were so young - but you looked so big back then, that side of you became my strength..."

He glances to the side stage. The rest of the trainees stand there, nod back to him.

Second verse and Mark comes in again with renewed vigour, rapping a conversation with this mysterious vocalist. When they get to the end, vocals melding with rap, the audience falls into silence in raptured awe. Mark can see it in their faces.

There - out of the corner of his eye. Right along the walls of the auditorium standing still as the audience is one continuous field of movement. Almost transparent and barely there.

_Donghyuck, can you hear your song? Hear the people chanting for the words your wrote, your voice that sings? Would you like the words I wrote for you?_

When the song fades out, Mark thinks he sees a smile.

The figure melts away.

Mark is left staring out into the crowd erupting in applause. Lets himself dream of something more.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> please do continue to take care...the pandemic isn't over yet and it'll be masks and social distancing for quite a bit, but we'll pull through together. stay safe!


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